


Two Loves

by Lupin111



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M, community: qaf_giftxchnge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-14 21:41:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9204569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lupin111/pseuds/Lupin111
Summary: Written for the QAF Gift Exchange 2016 for guavejuiceGift Request: Video canon-compliant, Feed Me Diamonds by MNDR. I'd LOVE it if my gift vid with have that version of Diamond because it's such a stunning song and goes together with B/J's story imo :)Other Specifications: Any AU that has something like B and J as Historic figures and so on.The story is based on your other request for an AU with a historical setting. This is definitely AU, and definitely a mix of history and fiction.Beta: Xrifree





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Oookay. So, first my apologies; I know you wanted a video, but unfortunately, I have ZERO video skills (except for viewing). I had to write you a story instead. I watched the video, listened to the song, and read about the singer's inspiration for writing it, especially her frame of mind at the time of writing it, and tried to capture that mood in the story - also, you will find some of the lyrics scattered through the story. I seriously doubt that this is anything close to what you had in mind, but I hope that you enjoy it nevertheless. I hope you had a wonderful Christmas, and all the very, very best for 2017!
> 
>  
> 
> The QAF Gift Exchange on LJ is a wonderful community, and there are many, many excellent stories, graphics, and videos on it. Please do check it out here: http://qaf-giftxchnge.livejournal.com/
> 
> Like all my stories, this one too would not have been possible without my awesome beta, who, not only is a wonderful friend who puts up with my incessant whining 24/7, but is also an incredible beta who will make sense out of nothing, and help formulate a story from wisps of ideas. 
> 
> Disclaimer:  
> Based on the show 'Queer as Folk' by Showtime. All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is made from this work.
> 
> This work contains lyrics from the song ‘Feed Me Diamonds’ by MNDR. I take no credit for that artist’s work. The title ‘Two Loves’ comes from Lord Alfred Douglas’s poem of the same name. Lastly, this work is quasi-historical, and as such contains fictionalized accounts of real people who existed in the past. All effort has been made to represent them accurately. All mistakes and inaccuracies are my own.

**Two Loves**

         - Lord Alfred Douglas

I dreamed I stood upon a little hill,

And at my feet there lay a ground, that seemed

Like a waste garden, flowering at its will

With buds and blossoms. There were pools that dreamed

Black and unruffled; there were white lilies

A few, and crocuses, and violets

Purple or pale, snake-like fritillaries

Scarce seen for the rank grass, and through green nets

Blue eyes of shy peryenche winked in the sun.

And there were curious flowers, before unknown,

Flowers that were stained with moonlight, or with shades

Of Nature’s willful moods; and here a one

That had drunk in the transitory tone

Of one brief moment in a sunset; blades

Of grass that in an hundred springs had been

Slowly but exquisitely nurtured by the stars,

And watered with the scented dew long cupped

In lilies, that for rays of sun had seen

Only God’s glory, for never a sunrise mars

The luminous air of Heaven. Beyond, abrupt,

A grey stone wall. o’ergrown with velvet moss

Uprose; and gazing I stood long, all mazed

To see a place so strange, so sweet, so fair.

And as I stood and marvelled, lo! across

The garden came a youth; one hand he raised

To shield him from the sun, his wind-tossed hair

Was twined with flowers, and in his hand he bore

A purple bunch of bursting grapes, his eyes

Were clear as crystal, naked all was he,

White as the snow on pathless mountains frore,

Red were his lips as red wine-spilith that dyes

A marble floor, his brow chalcedony.

And he came near me, with his lips uncurled

And kind, and caught my hand and kissed my mouth,

And gave me grapes to eat, and said, ‘Sweet friend,

Come I will show thee shadows of the world

And images of life. See from the South

Comes the pale pageant that hath never an end.'

And lo! within the garden of my dream

I saw two walking on a shining plain

Of golden light. The one did joyous seem

And fair and blooming, and a sweet refrain

Came from his lips; he sang of pretty maids

And joyous love of comely girl and boy,

His eyes were bright, and ‘mid the dancing blades

Of golden grass his feet did trip for joy;

And in his hand he held an ivory lute

With strings of gold that were as maidens’ hair,

And sang with voice as tuneful as a flute,

And round his neck three chains of roses were.

But he that was his comrade walked aside;

He was full sad and sweet, and his large eyes

Were strange with wondrous brightness, staring wide

With gazing; and he sighed with many sighs

That moved me, and his cheeks were wan and white

Like pallid lilies, and his lips were red

Like poppies, and his hands he clenched tight,

And yet again unclenched, and his head

Was wreathed with moon-flowers pale as lips of death.

A purple robe he wore, o’erwrought in gold

With the device of a great snake, whose breath

Was fiery flame: which when I did behold

I fell a-weeping, and I cried, ‘Sweet youth,

Tell me why, sad and sighing, thou dost rove

These pleasent realms? I pray thee speak me sooth

What is thy name?' He said, ‘My name is Love.'

Then straight the first did turn himself to me

And cried, ‘He lieth, for his name is Shame,

But I am Love, and I was wont to be

Alone in this fair garden, till he came

Unasked by night; I am true Love, I fill

The hearts of boy and girl with mutual flame.'

Then sighing, said the other, ‘Have thy will,

I am the love that dare not speak its name.'

 

* * *

 

 

 _ **February, 1896**_  
  
_**Reading Goal, 30 miles west of London**_

  
  
There were things a man could abide, things a man could not, and things he was forced to abide.   
  
Brian was well aware of this unwritten rule that the world operated by. He knew it when he was a young boy, suffering through both his mother’s religious fervour and his father’s constant inebriation. He knew it when he had to bite his tongue, apprenticing under an incompetent stable master. He knew it when he had managed to finagle his way into becoming a manservant, finally moving away from the stable into the big house.   
  
Brian was now afraid. Slowly and surely, as each day passed, he became more and more afraid, fearing for himself.  
  
He was afraid, knowing that this was a situation that he  _must_  abide by, and knowing full that there was no way that he could remain in the situation he was in, and not go insane.  
  
“Your frustration is reaching its zenith; I can tell by the increase of your constant pacing. Why not make a friend while you are doomed to be here?”  
  
Brian was well aware that the rules of the prison strictly forbade anyone from speaking. They were all in separate cells, forced to live out each day in solitary confinement, enduring hard labour during the day, and yet unable to even look at another prisoner, let alone to speak. The rule was for them to wear long cloaks, complete with a cowl, which severely limited their vision. Brian knew that prisoners were subjected to all manner of punishment for breaking the rules; as far as he knew, the only exception was in the infirmary, where one could look at and speak to fellow prisoners, sans cowl or cloak.  
  
Still, Brian was curious about the man in the adjoining cell. Brian believed that the guard on duty in their block to be asleep. Denied the ability to communicate for months, Brian decided to risk breaking the rules. “Who are you? My pacing should be no concern of yours.”  
  
“C33. Occupant of the third cell on the third floor of C ward.”  
  
“I am well aware of the cell you occupy, being in your neighbouring cell. I was referring to your name.”  
  
“Brian Kinney, I know who you are and why you are here. It will do you good to make a friend.”  
  
“And yet, I still do not know your identity.”  
  
“I am Irish, just like you. And my infamy is known far and wide. But you were already in jail, by the time my trials were underway.”  
  
Brian realised that C33’s voice was somewhat familiar. “We have met,” he stated plainly.  
  
“But of course we have.”  
  
Brian heard a plank creek, and knew that C33 was moving towards the bars. He also walked to the bars of his cell.  
  
“Oscar Wilde, sodomist, at your service”.  
  
Brian gasped; he had heard that the famed writer had been jailed for charges identical to his own, but he had been unaware that the man was his fellow prisoner.  
  
“You were the young Lord Taylor’s valet. I remember you; this tall, confident, well-groomed man.”  
  
Brian scoffed. “Indeed.”  
  
“But of course, I remember you for reasons other than your good looks.”  
  
“Of course; you surely followed my trial. I understand that not many men are arrested for gross indecency,” Brian said bitterly.   
  
“My friend, it could be worse. You could have been arrested for buggery. You would never leave these walls, had that been the case. But I knew of you for other reasons, considerably prior to your trial.”  
  
Brian raised an eyebrow. Gentlemen of society did not make it a habit to be familiar with other men’s servants.   
  
“You were the reason Lord Taylor refused my advances.”  
  
Brian couldn’t stop the shock he felt from registering on his face. “Justin…you knew…”  
  
Oscar shrugged. “Those of us who were interested knew. He was certainly wiser than some of us were, remaining discreet,” he said wistfully. “It was hard to resist a young man so accomplished, charming, and just beautiful…he was always gracious, and he always said no. When I saw how he looked at the man who should have been a mere valet, I realised why. After all, one can only be so discreet when it comes to human emotions.”  
  
“I haven’t seen him for almost a year,” Brian said, his heart heavy.  
  
“Tell me your story, Brian Kinney, and I will tell you how the young Lord Taylor is faring. I have pertinent news regarding his well-being.” 


	2. Part II

Brian would not have unburdened his soul to anybody, given the circumstances he found himself in. He knew the danger. There was a very real risk that whatever he said would find its way to the ears of the authorities. His sentence could increase; he could conceivably be at Reading for far longer than his original sentence.  
  
But Oscar had known Justin. He had information about Justin  _today_. Months had passed with no word from Justin; Brian was parched for information. He would have killed a man in cold-blood just for word of Justin; telling his story to Oscar was a small price to pay. Risks be damned.   
  
“I haven’t seen him for almost a year,” Brian repeated.  
  
“He was thinner when I last saw him; but he was still gracious and beautiful. He is rather young, as compared to you.”  
  
“He looks deceptively young,” Brian stated, smiling wistfully. “He is already nineteen.”  
  
“And you?”  
  
“I am nine and twenty.”  
  
“There is a decade between you…Bosie is a full sixteen years younger to me. I preyed upon youthful young men, they said. Psshaw! These things do not matter,  _I_  say. A decade, half a decade, or two decades. One’s age is found in one’s mind and one’s heart, not in the lines of a person’s skin.”  
  
“I told him to find people his own age to consort with,” Brian said dully.   
  
“Did he?”  
  
“Justin was always in full control of his faculties. No one can make him do what he does not want to do himself.”  
  
“I dare say I agree with that picture of him.”  
  
Brian stayed silent, hoping that the other man would elaborate, but Oscar merely said “First your story, then mine.”  
  
Brian sighed. “I left home when I was eleven, to work as a stable boy for Lord Taylor.”  
  
“I was never impressed with Lord Craig Taylor,” Oscar interjected.  
  
“He wasn’t Lord of the manor at that time; his father was still alive when I started working on their estate. And he was a good man. My only ambition was to work myself into becoming part of the house staff. I went from stable boy to groom, before I found my way out of the stables.”  
  
“With your height and looks, the butler must have taken you on as the first, or at least the second footman.”  
  
“I was taken in as a regular footman.”  
  
“That’s rather foolish,” Oscar declared. “You should have been the first or second footman. What was the young Lord Taylor like? I imagine that he would have been considerably young when you moved into the house.”  
  
“Justin wasn’t at the manor when I moved from the stables. He was away at Wixenford first, and then Eton. Most summers he was away at his mother’s estate in Scotland. His father did not have a happy relationship with the old Lord; an old family quarrel. Justin only came to the estate at seventeen, when the old Lord Taylor passed.”  
  
“Aaaah, this is when you were a general footman.”  
  
“I was. But Lord Taylor decreed that Justin needed a valet, and who better than I, the regular footman, to be tasked with ‘keeping a close guard’ on his only son?’  
  
“I can imagine that you kept an extremely close guard,” Oscar said with a knowing smile.  
  
Brian scoffed, and shook his head. “Not so, at first. I knew what the consequences would be; more so for him than me. I imagined that the worst that could happen to me was to be let go. Justin stood to lose the estate that was rightfully his.”   
  
“And yet…”  
  
“And yet, it became impossible to resist. A look, a glance, a gesture. It can mean everything and nothing. We were together every day, and he was impossibly persistent.”  
  
“But how did he know, if you never approached him?”  
  
Brian sighed. The guilt would never leave him. Despite all his efforts, it was his two indiscretions that had led to the present state of affairs. “He found me, once. With another. And if Justin had been unsure earlier, he had good reason to know the truth about me after that. Once he had that certainty, I knew I was doomed. He was doggedly persistent. In my mind, it became a question of when, not if. I told myself, I won’t pursue. I wanted him. I let the world make the decision, no matter the consequences. And finally, I gave in to what we both wanted.”  
  
“Do you worry that you have sinned?”

Brian laughed harshly. “Please, I have no such concerns. Men, making rules for other men, using their own narrow perspectives, telling us what we can and cannot do. You can hang the whole lot of them, and it would be punishment too gentle.”  
  
“We are pilloried for loving a man, while others are feted for devastation across countries.”  
  
“I did not love him,” Brian stated quickly.  
  
“No? But you would still be with him, if not for your incarceration, is this not so?”  
  
Brian closed his eyes, and hit the back of his head against the cold stone wall behind him. The things he  _should_  be punished for, he never would be. “There were others. I always had others. I  _told_  Justin to consort with people his own age; men or women it did not even matter. He never did; not truly. All his others were designed to rouse jealousy in me, and…”  
  
“And you lied with him, and lied to him.”  
  
Brian looked up, but did not answer. It was true. He had lay with Justin, and then lied to him about what it meant. And it was too late now to undo any of it.  
  
“From seventeen to nineteen, he was yours.”  
  
“Until his father found out about…about his ‘proclivities’, as it was so charmingly put.”  
  
“I was never privy to how your secret became a Crown prosecutorial matter.”  
  
Brian shrugged his shoulders in helplessness. “Justin was…is…an artist. He took peculiar joy in drawing my likeness; there must be a hundred drawings of me that he did…and…I don’t know why, but his mother searched his room and found some of these drawings.”  
  
“She accused you of corrupting her son.”  
  
“She accused us both of far worse; she insisted that he attend at St Andrew's Hospital, which he just as insistently refused to do.”  
  
“St. Andrew’s Hospital for Mental Diseases?” Oscar asked, with open wonderment.  
  
“Is there any other?” Brian asked bitterly.  
  
“I was living in town then, working again in stables; the manor terminated me immediately. But that wasn’t enough for anyone. The more Justin refused to attend at the hospital, the more convinced Lady Taylor was of my corrupting influence; she told Lord Taylor, who concluded that having me incarcerated would cure his son. I was foolish enough to have a dalliance with a man in town, whom I found out belatedly was paid by Lord Taylor. They were not able to prove the buggery charge, but had enough to indict me on the indecency charge. They asked Justin to turn Queen’s Evidence against me; he refused. He visited me daily when I was on remand; he told me he refused. And I knew it to be true, given the conclusion of my trial. And I have not laid an eye on him since they led me away in chains at the end of it. This be my story; I believe you have pertinent information to share with me.”  
  
“It is certainly pertinent; whether it is good information or not, only you can be the judge of that.”


	3. Part III

Brian was suffering far more than even his judge could have intended.

Soon after he had spoken to Oscar, the guards had switched. And, in the place of the former sleep-laden man, he was now being watched over by one who was awake and alert. The monastic solitary confinement intended for prisoners to undergo was being strictly enforced, though Brian very much doubted that the majority of them were reflecting on their ‘crime’ and ‘behaviour’ as they were expected to. Some sang out loud to themselves or others, and some just spoke to themselves extremely loudly; he had not a doubt in his mind that they were roundly punished for it. Brian was not a person given to high degree of verbosity, but the enforced, rigorous conditions that he was supposed to adhere to was taking a toll on even him; more so now that he had someone to talk to, and a very important topic to talk about.

Oscar was the beneficiary of certain privileges that Brian had noticed even before they had spoken; Oscar was given a certain amount of reading material, and it appeared that he was also given writing instruments, though Brian believed that what Oscar wrote seemed to be taken away from him on a daily basis. He hadn’t cared enough about the matter before, and now that he was, his ability to ask questions was hampered by the design of those more powerful than him.

Of course, Brian’s primary concern was none of these matters. He did not truly care as to which prisoners were contemplating the nature of their character and crime. He was only mildly curious as to why Oscar was allowed special privileges. All he truly wanted to know was about Justin; what did Oscar know?

That day, by Brian’s count, he had completed approximately seven hours on the treadmill. Brian was used to hard work; he had been working since he was eleven years old. Now, however, he understood what the term ‘hard labour’ actually meant. Working the treadmill was painful work, though Brian thought it better than some of the other options available.  By his estimation, he had climbed the equivalent of 12,000 vertical feet that day; Brian’s only consolation was that the mill was not completely punitive, and was used to grind grain.

He had told Justin over and over and over again that he didn’t love him; he had told Oscar that as well. And yet, during the interminable, silent day, and long hours of hard labour, it was the thought of Justin and their memories together that kept Brian sane.  And when he lay down on the plank at night, it was not knowing what had happened to Justin since his sentencing that pushed Brian closer and closer towards insanity.

The prison was hard, but it was _meant_ to be hard. It was Justin – the past, the future, the unknown – that was what was now dismantling him, slowly, taking his hands, his feet, his voice, his everything and reducing it all to a crystal blackness.

Two nights passed before Brian was given the opportunity to speak to Oscar again. They had a new guard; the man seemed young, possibly the same age as Brian. During his return from the forced trip to the chapel, Brian’s cowl fell down by accident. The guard was surprised; he stared at Brian for too long before he quickly clamped the cowl over Brian’s head. Prisoners were supposed to remain anonymous and unseen, to each other and to the guards. That was the whole purpose of the cloaks and hoods; by virtue of his accident, Brian knew he had earned himself an untold amount of punishment – more hours of back-breaking drudgery.

When no such punishment was forthcoming, Brian took a cautious gamble in assuming that there were now two guards during whose shifts rules could be broken.

“Oscar? Are you awake?”

There was a moment’s silence before Brian received the whispered response. “How pleasant it is to hear someone call me by my name.”

Brian sighed in silent relief that his fellow prisoner was not asleep.

“I think as you do; the new guard is safe. I spoke to him briefly as he took away my writing today; he seems to be from an Italian family. I do not think he is here to give trouble to prisoners and assert his power.”

“Then we can continue our conversation from two nights ago.”

“He waited until the trial was over.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You were asking about the younger Lord Taylor,” Oscar stated, misunderstanding Brian’s confusion.

 _He waited until the trial was over._ It could mean so many different things, and many, many thoughts were milling around Brian’s head; none of them were good. Justin waited…to do what? Go to St. Andrews? Accede to his parents’ wishes and become someone he wasn’t? Be with somebody else?

“What did he do? What did Justin wait to do? Did he leave the country?” As far as Brian was concerned, that was best thing Justin could have done for himself.

“You said he visited you daily while you were being held on remand?” Oscar asked quietly.

Brian knew better than to rush a man telling a story. “Every day.”

“This may surprise you, but, I am envious of you, Brian Kinney.”

Indeed, it did surprise Brian. He was so far beneath Oscar Wilde in talent, stature and circumstances of life, in spite of the fact that they were both presently sharing the same fate. Brian stated as much.

“Well, that may not quite be the case. You will no longer be a valet on an estate, but I will also no longer be a respected writer. We both of us have fallen from our positions of relative grace, but my fall has been steeper. But that is not the root of my envy. Lord Taylor visited you every day while you were in remand; Bosie visited _me_ every day as well, while I was being held on remand. He made such grand talk then about what he was going to do, about what he _wanted_ to do to set matters right. But someone always managed to convince him to act in his own best interests instead; sometimes it was I who made those arguments. He left the country, you know, to escape any possible persecution. I know that a lot of my friends did, and it was what would protect them…but they left me. _He_ left me.”

“We are both alone; that is the point of being in prison. The aim of those who profess moral superiority is to break our spirits by isolating us to the point of madness. Becoming envious and depressed is simply giving in to those who want to oppress you.”

Oscar was silent for a brief period. “You are right, of course. But logic and reason do not rule in the domain of emotions. I have not heard from Bosie; I know not where he stands, except that it is not beside me. I do not defend my own conduct; I am simply speaking of my own unspeakable loneliness, and feeling of abandonment. You are wondering what happened to your Justin, and why I am speaking of my own troubles instead. I apologise for keeping you in suspense, but I could not – cannot – help but draw parallels between us. After your sentencing, after you were found guilty, _your_ intimate friend did not leave the country. He did not cower under the weight of his parents demands. _Your_ intimate friend turned himself over to the police once your future and fate was sealed. He admitted to gross indecency with another man; he has taken on for himself your own sentence.”

“No! No, he cannot! That is not…No!” If ever Brian thought he would be pushed over the edge, this was the moment he thought that it may happen. Forced to whisper, forced to be on guard, unable to express himself the way he wished to was enough to drive a normal man wild. But that wasn’t all. _Justin_ had turned himself over to the police, turned himself in to face the same sentence of hard labour and solitary confinement as Brian. He was almost mad with frenzy, sadness and rage at the world.

If Brian was just barely managing to hold onto his sanity during his imprisonment, how could Justin possibly survive? Separated from his books, from his art, from people, from speaking…forced to work a treadmill, or a crank machine, or some form of labour that was even worse…

And for what? For not being able to remain silent while Brian took on punishment for the both of them. For being in love with Brian.

Brian felt the tears on his cheek. Not for the first time, he went over in his mind all the things he should have done differently to have avoided his present fate, except now, it was not only his fate, but the fate of the man that he had refused to admit that he was in love with.

“How can you possibly know this?” Brian hoped that Oscar was wrong, despite knowing that it was futile. This sounded much too much like something Justin would do, to turn himself in to the police even though there had been no accusations against him. Stupid and brave and idealistic and… _oh, Justin._

“I knew of his trial as it happened, though it didn’t catch anyone’s attention as there was no need to prosecute him. He willingly admitted to the charge. I was informed by friends. The Lord and Lady Taylor did much to try and alter the outcome they say, but he was sentenced to four years of hard labour, on account of the confession. He was taken to Newgate.”

“ _This?_ This is the reason you are envious of me? Prison has done more damage to your faculties than you realise,” Brian said bitterly.

“One day, we will both be free to walk out of this stone prison, and only one of us will do that knowing there is a man out there who loves us enough to risk everything to do the right thing.”

“That is cold comfort to me.”

“It will be more, when it becomes the thing you hold on to, to get yourself through this ordeal, and it will be more, when it becomes the driving force for you to rebuild your life at the end of your sentence. But, I digress. I had said that there may be information that you viewed as good; I have not shared that with you yet.”

“There can be nothing good to come out of this misery.”

Oscar ignored Brian, and continued to speak. “You may not know this, but I was able to obtain a transfer to Reading from Wandsworth, due in no small part to the effort from a Member of Parliament I once knew – the MP Haldane. It is because of him that I am allowed to read and write while I suffer in here. When he visited me recently, he spoke of another prisoner’s case that he had championed – the case of your friend Justin. He is being transferred to Reading as well.”

 


	4. Part IV

"Brian, are you still awake?"

Indeed, Brian was still awake, and he gave his affirmation to the question. They could both hear Oscar's deep breathing; the playwright was asleep.

"I envision you, in my imagination. You must be thinner now, I think, given the quality of our meals here…or the lack thereof. But, we will remedy that once we are released. I draw you, over and over again, in my mind."

Brian sighed. "Justin, you must not torture yourself like this. How does this help?"

"It helps, thinking of you. It helps, knowing that at the end of four years, I have you to look forward to."

Brian was silent. Justin's transfer to Reading was either a blessing or a curse, but Brian had not yet been able to decide which. It was trying, to be so close to Justin, and yet be so far away. Justin had been at Reading for little over a fortnight now, but they had had only a handful of opportunities to speak; the young Italian guard had been absent during Justin's second week, which had severely restricted opportunity for conversation. Within those opportunities, conversations were hardly private, with Oscar's cell placed between each of theirs, and Oscar being awake almost as often as they were. Worst of all was the fact that they were all robed; no prisoner could see another, and thus, when they were taken to chapel, there was no means by which Brian could recognise Justin from the sea of cowled heads, even if he had been brave enough to look and risk punishment.

It was absurd that they could be so close, and yet unable to look at each other at all, unable to hear the other's voice for days at a time.

Yet, the feelings of agitation, despair, and utter hopelessness that had enveloped Brian from the time he was imprisoned was no longer testing the limits of his sanity. There was a deep sense of calm, knowing that Justin was here, that in spite of all the difficulties, they were together. Justin had risked everything to publicly declare his feelings for Brian, and to suffer the same punishment. As bad as Brian felt when he thought about that, the knowledge that he was not alone, that he was loved and wanted, that he was worth something, brought to life emotions that Brian never knew he possessed. Oscar had been right; unbidden and unconsciously, it had become the thing to ground him, and to give him strength.

"It is not quite four years any longer."

"This is true."

They both lapsed into brief silence; Brian tried to think of how to make Justin feel better, or at the very least distract him from their present circumstances.

"I was thinking of August last, when we went to Derbyshire to visit your friend Geoffrey."

Brian could sense the smile on Justin's face at the memory even if he could not see the other man, and unconsciously, he felt himself smile as well.

"Yes! What a glorious time we all had! It was beautiful."

"I'm sorry I fought with you then."

"Brian, we did not fight."

"You wanted to go to the lake to fish; you wanted me to come with you. And I insisted that I would not go, and I made you stay indoors with me."

"What silliness is this? I'd rather stay indoors with you any day, instead of going fishing. Brian, think nothing of it. I cherish our time together, whether it was travelling 50 miles in a carriage, or watching the sunrise with you."

"One day…someday, we will both be out of this prison. I promise you, we will go to the lake - we will go to a lake _somewhere_ – and you will teach me how to fish."

"Brian…you do not have to promise me anything. You never did."

"I know."

"Brian…I love you."

"I know."

"I miss you. I want to look into your eyes. I want to hold your hand. I want to see you smile, when you think nobody is looking at you."

"Justin, you shall. These four years will pass."

"I shall not be waiting four years," Justin responded in a determined voice, surprising Brian. "I shall look into your eyes. I shall hold your hand. I shall see you smile. And I shall do all of these within the next several days, with your help."

"Justin…"

"You were asleep last evening. I had a chance to speak to Oscar, and he gave me an idea."

Brian could not help himself; he was smiling broadly. "Scheming already, Justin?"

"To see you, I will do far worse. What I need you to do, I believe, is well within your capacity. Three days hence, you will slip and fall after chapel. You will have unbearable pain in your ear, you will also hurt your hand such that you are unable to move it. You must find means to speak to Oscar no sooner than he is awake. He had a fall similar to what you will suffer at Wandsworth; that is something that helped him come here to Reading. He will help you in how to feign your injuries."

"What have you planned, young Lord Taylor?" Brian could keep neither the excitement nor the smile out of his voice.

"Nothing that I have not planned since the day I met you; means to be with you."

 

* * *

 

"This must be what heaven is like," Brian said. It was somewhat disconcerting to hear his own voice out loud, with no effort to whisper or keep the sound low.

Justin grinned. "Is this not wonderful, being able to see, hear, and touch each other?"

"I was speaking on the softness of this bed; my cell provides me with no such luxuries," Brian said, happy to be able to tease Justin and harken back to a time that now seemed like a distant memory.

Justin shook his head, but could not help smiling. "I know what you are about Brian Kinney, in spite of your words."

The guards at the infirmary were lazy and disinterested in their charges; the prisoners were often left on their own. Brian had moved his bed closer to Justin's; the sick prisoners in the infirmary did not care, and if the doctor noticed, he stayed silent. There were women who came to tend to them, taking turns from the nurses. They too professed little interest at what the prisoners said to each other; their only concern was doing the Christian thing and saving souls from eternal damnation.

Brian held Justin's hand in his own; the soft, tender hand he had been used to was now a working man's hand. Calloused, cracked, and bearing the scars of hard labour. Brian squeezed his eyes shut briefly, pushing away the unhappy thoughts. There would be time enough for that when it was time to return to his cell. Unconscious of his own actions, he raised Justin's hand to his lips, kissing them gently.

"It doesn't hurt," Justin said softly.

Brian nodded. "Are your bandages still making your skin itch? Why must you wear it – I heard the doctor tell you the leg was not broken."

"I have gotten used to the bandages. I believe _we_ both knew that the leg was not broken from the start," Justin said slyly, "but the doctor says that they will help heal the wounds. He told the guard that even a sprained ankle requires rest; I believe he will aid in my staying here at the infirmary for a few more days, at least."

Brian smiled. It had indeed been an excellent plan to feign accidents dire enough to be moved to the infirmary; it was the only place in the whole prison where prisoners did not have to hide themselves away from each other in cloaks and silence.

"Dr. Perry seems to think the shot drill is unchristian punishment," Justin said. "I never thought of hard labour until I became a prisoner myself; I now understand much better what Ms. Fry was saying. Oscar too, says that he plans to write about prison conditions upon his release."

"The shot drill is far worse than merely being unchristian, a term only Christians can understand, I dare say. Is there any imaginable purpose in stooping down without bending your knees, lifting a cannonball almost as heavy as yourself to your chest, stepping three times to your right, placing it on the ground, stepping back three paces, and repeating this silly exercise until sundown? Callused hands and broken backs; this is not merely hard labour, it is utterly senseless and simply meant to drive one to distraction! _Every_ prisoner made to suffer through the shot drill should pretend to drop a cannon on their leg."

Brian felt Justin squeeze his hand. "You don't know this Brian, but you are as lovely today as you were the day I met you. And I am as determined today as I was then, and if I had to, I would lay down my life for you. I would not go through this torture for anyone, but with you by my side, it is not torture."

"Oscar would be proud of your romantic notions," Brian said with a light smile, but the truth was he himself was touched. It may have been romantic notions, but he knew that Justin spoke in earnest, and Brian was well aware that Justin would indeed lay down his life for Brian, if ever he had to.

"I am sorry that Oscar has been abandoned in his time of need."

"Oscar has extremely poor choice in men. His mistake was investing his feelings in a fop such as Bosie. Oscar was used badly."

"I wish we could help him."

"Let us help ourselves first. Oscar has friends aplenty to help him when his time here draws to a close."

Justin looked at Brian knowingly. "You say this, but your judgment of Bosie tells me that you would not be abandoning Oscar."

"You think you know me so well," Brian stated sardonically.

Justin was silent, but he was beaming.

Brian sighed. Heaven and earth was in his eyes, and the world lit up when he smiled. Brian knew with certainty that there was at least one person at Reading that he would never abandon.

For almost a twelvemonth, their system worked. Both of them were careful to not overuse the infirmary and feign illness, lest it become suspect. The trips to the infirmary were spread out so as to not draw attention. To their luck, Dr. Perry simply came to consider both Brian and Justin to be of sickly constitution, with a predisposition to illnesses. This notion of Dr. Perry's served to their advantage.

Thus, when Justin did not return to his cell one evening, Brian assumed that he must be in the infirmary. He was surprised, though, that Justin would not have planned this in advance with him. Even Oscar was surprised at the absence, inquiring after Justin. Oscar surmised that this time, there may have been a genuine accident that moved Justin to the infirmary. Almost sick with worry alone, Brian wasted no time in feigning an illness in order to make his way to the infirmary. But much to his horror, Justin was not there. Brian waited for days in the infirmary, but he neither saw Justin, nor heard anything about the young man's whereabouts. Eventually, Brian was forced to return to his cell, not having learnt anything.

Oscar, worried as well, promised to inquire about Justin the next time he was visited by any of his friends or MP Haldane. However, none of them were able to provide the men with any valuable information.

Over a fortnight had passed before Brian received news of Justin from the unlikeliest of sources. He was being escorted back to his cell after chapel by the guard, but the man was shuffling about and taking an unusually long time making the return journey. Finally the guard spoke in a hushed whisper, and Brian could only assume that the man had been waiting for the area to clear of other people. From his nasal voice, Brian recognised him as the guard of Italian descent.

"I…I thought…your friend…I thought you might wish to know about your friend," the guard stammered.

"My friend?"

"Your…friend."

In that instance, Brian realised two things. First, that the guard was just like him. And secondly, the man had information about Justin. So surprised and nervous was Brian that he was at a loss for words. This silence the guard took as encouragement, because he continued to speak in stumbling whispers.

"Your friend who used to be here. He is at St Andrew's Hospital…that is, St. Andrew's Hospital for Mental Diseases. He is a patient. My mother is a cook there…and my uncle is a…anyhow, I went to visit them…I saw him by chance. I just thought…I wanted…I believe…I felt that you may wish to know."


	5. Part V

"You will feel the rest of your time here more I fear, given that he is gone."

Brian was silent. He no longer had the emotional strength required to answer. He pressed his forehead against the cold, hard stone wall.

"What will you do?" Oscar asked.

"Are you aware of something that I _can_ do, because my understanding is that prison provides one with no such options."

Brian heard Oscar sigh; he almost felt sorry for being rude to his fellow prisoner.

"Brian. You will be here for less than twelve months now. Unlike myself, you actually have a future with someone to look forward to, if you are but able to bring yourself to create that future. A matter of a few years is no real barrier to happiness, unless you make it so."

"I'm curious as to what exactly it is that you are envisioning," Brian said, with more than a touch of bitterness in his voice.

"You must leave England. I myself will be moving to France upon my release. They are more open there, more understanding of those different from themselves. As you well know, I was advised to escape there before my trials; my honour forbade me to do so. Now, however…I shall be in France no sooner than a boat can carry me to her shore. I will not be persecuted there, as I was here. France has no explicit legal penalties for relations between two men; the Revolution gifted this to us. You would be safe there as well, and free. No one will know that you were a stable hand, or a valet. Can you speak French? If you cannot, you must learn. I know that Justin speaks both French and German. He could paint, and teach English and art. It would be a modest life compared to what he enjoyed here, but none of the three of us are in any position to expect to replace _everything_ we have lost. Come to France with me; I will be staying with a friend, and you – both of you – are welcome to stay with me until you find yourself on your own feet again".

Brian shook his head, even though Oscar could not see him. Oscar was such a naïve man, Brian had no trouble imagining how he was taken in by Bosie, or encouraged to pursue a doomed fight against the Marquess of Queensberry. It was incredulous to him that Oscar was actually imagining a future for himself, Justin, and Oscar in the distant fields of France.

"Oscar, I'm afraid to say that I fear for your sanity. I will be released in a little under a year, yes. But Justin is at St. Andrew's. I very much doubt that there is a release date for him _there_. This is all his mother's doing. I _know_ it. She thinks he is mentally ill, she thought that from the moment she found out. All she wanted was for him to be at St. Andrew's, to receive treatment for an illness that is _not_ an illness. And now she has succeeded. You've met Justin, you've spoken to him at length. You know who he is. He will never pretend otherwise, he will never willingly undergo treatment, and he will be bound to remain at St. Andrew's. What good is there in my being released, when he is stuck there, with no way out? I'm certainly not escaping to France leaving Justin behind."

"I understand you perfectly, Brian. I envy you…I envy Justin…not abandoning each other even as things go from bad to worse. I have known so many men…Bosie…and yet…"

The two of them lapsed into gloomy silence. Brian felt now that all hope was lost. With no money, no connections, and no plan, it seemed impossible to him that Justin and he would find a way out of the nightmare they found themselves trapped in.

"You must get him out," Oscar stated.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You must serve your time here, and when it's time for you to leave, you must go to St. Andrew's and get him out. Then you both shall come to France. This is the only way. You understand how the world works better than Justin and I both. Justin will listen to you. You must instruct him on what to say, and what to do. He can get out of St. Andrew's, but only with your help and guidance."

Brian was doubtful, but at the same time, he was inclined to listen. "But…how? I do not know anyone, I have no useful connections. I am sure his mother has him watched with care, more so after my release. Nay, I dare say she has him kept away from all men other than doctors, until she deems him 'cured'."

"Perhaps you have no connections…perhaps you do. While you are unable to speak to anyone within Reading, or outside of here for that matter, I believe my sphere of influence is somewhat larger. I think I may be able to find someone who can help you. Someone who has already shown an eagerness to do so."

"You speak of the prison guard? Why would he take such a risk?"

"He has already taken a risk by speaking to you; he has already shown a disposition willing to help. He is one of us. I have more opportunity to speak to him than you; he comes often enough to remove my writing. I also have visitors; you have none. I can ask someone for help; and I have faith that someone will, even if you have no faith."

Hope was a very dangerous thing. Brian was well aware of this. But he had never been one to give up without a fight. If even Oscar could think up of avenues to aid him…

"I must think," Brian stated with renewed energy. "Us - none of us – survived this far just to let them win."

As it were, it took Oscar a mere ten days to show that he was a man of his word. For the first time since he entered Reading, Brian had a visitor. An older, short, plump woman Brian had never before seen was waiting for him. He took in her well-worn clothes, ginger hair, and the basket at her feet.

"Brian? I'm Mrs. Novotny. Please, sit. Gracious, you're so thin. They really don't feed you, do they?"

"I'm sorry, have we met before?" The question was pointless; Brian knew it was impossible that they had met before and that he simply forgot this woman.

"I've met your friend, Justin. Such a sweet, sweet boy. My son Michael works here. He told me about you. Michael gave me the message from your friend, the playwright, that you wanted to see me. Of course, I came as soon as I could. Oh, you poor dears. All of you. You've been ill-treated. 'Tis a shame, all of this. If I was the judge, I'd have let all of you go."

Brian smiled wryly, in spite of himself. "Mrs. Novotny, I appreciate the sentiment."

"You're all God's children, and you're no different from anybody else. Don't let anyone make you think otherwise. I may be just a cook, but I can tell that your friend Justin, there's nothing wrong with his head. It's a crying shame that they've locked him up the way they have; he doesn't belong there. When I told him I was coming to see you – oh, he smiled for the first time ever – it was like a ray of sunshine!"

"Mrs. Novotny, you don't have to help me. You don't know me at all –"

"I know enough to know that what happened to you was wrong."

Brian was beginning to take a real liking to this woman. "You could find yourself in trouble for helping me."

"What are they going to do, throw _me_ in prison for being a decent human being?" she asked, scoffing. "Son, you let _me_ worry about any trouble I could get into. Now, I'm just an ordinary woman, but I am more than happy to do what I can to help."

"If you can, please, you must give Justin a message. He needs to become whoever they want him to be. Just…you must tell him that I told him so. He has to be decertified, and this they will only do once they believe that they have succeeded. Justin must make them believe this. Tell him that it's not lying if they make you lie — if the only truth they can accept is their own."

She took his hands in her own. "You have my word. I shall be back to see you, to let you know how he is. Is there anything else you want me to say?"

"Tell him that it's only time. I'll never abandon him. Tell him to just hold on, because I'll be coming for him."

 

**THE END**


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